


New Tricks

by howelleheir



Series: Unfinished Works [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, BDSM, Collars, M/M, Power Dynamics, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howelleheir/pseuds/howelleheir
Summary: Bits and pieces, scraps, scenes, and other unfinished works. Many stop mid-sentence, most never develop a plot. These are all pieces that I started at one point or another and then moved on to another work, another ship, another fandom, or just got too busy to work on anything, so they will likely never be finished, but some of them were fun, and some were even good, so I'm putting them all out there with the disclaimer that they are abandoned WIPs, and unless a particular piece gets a lot of love and re-sparks my interest, I have no intention of coming back to them. Various fandoms and genres, some pieces very porny, some downright objectionable. Tread with care and mind the tags.In this work: Rollins never does anything half-way.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Unfinished Works [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594933
Kudos: 8





	New Tricks

On Saturday, Brock casually mentioned that he thought bondage might be fun. Jack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t give any other response.

On Thursday, there was a box sitting on the kitchen counter when he got home. Narrow, about nine by three inches. Plain cardboard with writing in the upper left-hand corner. Jack’s narrow, capitalized hand, written in a fine-tipped sharpie. It read,  _ TO B, FROM J _ . 

Cautiously, he lifted the top from the box. Inside was a wide leather collar with a second, thinner strap in the middle. Heavy steel hardware. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. The leather was soft to the touch, but heavily interfaced, obviously meant for rough handling. The buckle was secured with a tiny padlock.

He dug through the tissue paper inside the box for a key, but found none. There was, however, a folded note he hadn’t noticed, taped to the box’s lid.

_ B, _

_ I’M SURE YOU ALREADY TOUCHED IT. MAYBE YOU WANTED TO TRY IT ON? I HAVE THE KEYS, SO THAT’S NOT HAPPENING.  _

_ IF YOU DIDN’T TOUCH IT, GOOD BOY. LEAVE IT IN THE BOX AND BRING IT UPSTAIRS TO ME. _

_ IF YOU DID TOUCH IT, I’LL LET IT SLIDE THIS ONE TIME. PUT IT BACK IN THE BOX, BRING IT UPSTAIRS TO ME, AND WE’LL PRETEND YOU DIDN’T. LET THIS BE A LESSON: YOUR COLLAR BELONGS TO ME. I PUT IT ON YOU; I TAKE IT OFF. YOU DON’T TOUCH IT UNLESS YOU’RE TOLD. _

_ -J _

Brock looked from the note to the collar and back. For one thing, he hadn’t thought it was something Jack was interested in, on account of how he’d completely ignored it when Brock brought it up. For another, he figured that even if Jack  _ was _ interested, he’d be more likely to shove him into a set of mag-cuffs and fuck him in the back of a transport van than...whatever this was. It seemed a lot more serious than he’d intended it to be.

He briefly considered just putting the thing back in its box and walking back out. Pretending that he hadn’t been home, crashing in one of the open barracks at the Triskellion, and just texting Jack to say he’d worked late and needed to get some sleep before he felt like driving. But there was always the chance that Jack had seen him pull into the driveway or heard him come in, and besides, his curiosity was really nagging at him to go see what the hell Jack was planning.

Leaving the note on the counter, he carefully placed the collar back into the box, fluffing the tissue paper a little to at least make it look like he hadn’t disturbed it, then replaced the lid and headed upstairs with no small amount of trepidation.

Jack was sitting in his armchair in the bedroom and reading, and from the look of the place, he’d had a busy day. There was a hookboard on the wall opposite the bed, hung with a riding crop, a wooden paddle, an old-fashioned crooked cane, a few implements Brock couldn’t readily identify, and what seemed like a bullwhip. Two lengths of rope ran between the mattress and boxsprings of the bed, each of the four ends looped around a snaphook. The blankets and pillows had been stripped off and stowed away somewhere, and the sheets replaced with a fresh set. At the end of the bed was a large locking trunk that hadn’t been there before, and to the side was what looked like a piece of weightlifting equipment - an adjustable metal frame with a vinyl seat and leg-rests - except Brock hadn’t ever encountered one in any gym he’d been to. The lights were the icing on the cake. Jack had taken out the bulbs in all but his reading lamp and replaced them with red ones.

“Okay, what the fuck…?”

Jack shot him a withering look over the cover of his novel, and then turned the page without a word.

“Hey,” Brock said, a little impatiently. He wasn’t in the mood to play whatever this game was. “Talking to you, asshole. Why does my bedroom look like the place Benson and Stabler are gonna find the body?”

Cocky bastard didn’t even look up this time. Just when Brock was about to open his mouth again, he stuck his bookmark in between the pages and set the book aside.

“Did you get my present?” he asked. Brock held up the box. “Did you read the note?”

“Yes I did, now what-”

“Give it here. And stop talking.”


End file.
